


Knocking Me Dead

by beatperfume



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Hooker AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatperfume/pseuds/beatperfume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan Kesler doesn't mean to pick up a hooker. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knocking Me Dead

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually know how hookers work, okay? I also don't actually know how the Canadian criminal justice system works, and I don't know what the players did during the Vancouver riots. This is all made up and self-indulgent.
> 
> ETA: It's been pointed out that some of the geography re: Vancouver is wrong. I've never been to Vancouver and tried to keep it as vague as possible, but apparently that didn't work. I can't change it without completely rewriting the story, so sorry to any Vancouver-ites out there who it totally throws off.
> 
> Thanks to angelsaves for the amazing beta, doctor_denmark for looking it over, and thanks to shoemaster for being the reason this story is a story and not just a two sentence email that never went anywhere.
> 
> Title from David Bowie's Cracked Actor.

Ryan Kesler doesn't mean to pick up a hooker.

Really.

What happens is the Canucks lose at home, and Kesler is pissed off about it. As he's driving home, he imagines all the ways he could have made them win. The goals he could have scored, the sticks he could have lifted, the shots he could have blocked. The next time he pays attention to the road, he realizes he must have missed a turn somewhere, because he does not recognize this area at all. He tries to turn around and go back the way he came, but he just gets more lost.

Finally, he turns on his GPS, because that's what it's for, right?

"Recalculating," it says. "Recalculating ... Turn left now."

Kesler follows the GPS's directions, but he doesn't start to recognize any of his surroundings. In fact, they're looking ... a little shady. The kind of shady he wasn't even aware Vancouver had.

"Recalculating," his GPS says. "Recalculating. Recalculating. Recalculating."

"Argh," Kesler says.

He drives straight for a while, hoping his GPS will get its shit together, but all it does is say "recalculating" over and over again.

 _It's okay,_ he thinks, _I can ask someone for directions._ Kesler's not some stereotype. He can totally ask for directions. If there was anyone around to ask. Which there isn't. Fuck.

A few blocks later he sees some people standing on the sidewalk and sighs in relief. He can get the fucking directions, and then he can finally go home.

He pulls over and rolls down his window. A guy with close-cropped dark hair and tight jeans wanders over.

"Hey," Kesler says, "Can--"

"75 for a blowjob," the guy says. "150 to fuck."

"Wait, what?"

The guy rolls his eyes. "Kinky stuff is extra, and condoms are not optional."

Kesler is an idiot. The guy is a hooker. They're all hookers, which is why they're _hanging around on a street corner._ He just needs to tell him that he's not looking for sex, he just needs directions. He opens his mouth to say that, but what comes out is, "Really? That much for a blowjob?"

"What, you're saying you can't afford it, Mr. Fancy SUV?"

"Recalculating," his GPS says. Kesler slams his hand on the off switch without looking at it.

"Well?" the guy says. "You want it or not?"

Kesler unlocks the doors. _This is such a bad idea._ "Get in," he says.

As soon as the guy gets in the car, though, Kesler doesn't know what to do. It's not like he's ever picked up a hooker before.

"Um," he says.

"Payment up front," the guy says. He sounds really bored.

Kesler grabs his wallet out of his pocket, suddenly uncertain he even has 75 in cash. Luckily, or unluckily, he does. He gives it to the guy (the hooker, what the hell), who counts it and then tucks it in his front pocket. Kesler doesn't even know how he fits anything in the pockets of his jeans, they're that tight. They look ... good on him though. They emphasize certain portions of his anatomy that Kesler usually tries to ignore on other guys. With this guy though, it's impossible to ignore. Kesler swallows.

"There's a parking lot a few blocks from here," the guy says.

"Yeah, okay," Kesler says. He follows the guy's directions and then parks in the corner of the empty parking lot.

"Backseat?" the guy suggests.

"Okay," Kesler says. He feels like he's lost control of this entire situation.

They get in the backseat, and the guy firmly pushes Kesler so that his back is against one of the doors. It makes sense, because the hooker is really tall, almost as tall as Kesler, and he probably won't fit anywhere else. The guy unzips Kesler's pants, and pulls them off. He shoves Kesler's legs apart and settles himself between them. For a hooker, this guy is really fucking pushy.

Then he puts his mouth on Kesler's dick, and oh. Kesler's not even really hard, but that doesn't stop the guy. He licks and sucks and uses his hands, and it doesn't take very long until Kesler is all the way hard and aching. This is probably the best blowjob he's ever had. Which makes sense, since this guy is a professional.

Kesler's trying his hardest to not to buck his hips too much, and not to be too loud, because sure, this parking lot looks deserted, but you never know. Then the guy pulls off, looks up at Kesler, and says, still totally bored, "You can fuck my mouth, it's fine."

Kesler nearly comes right there, because _oh God._ He lets his hips go a little, thrusting them into the guy's mouth. Not as much as he wants, because that can't be, like, comfortable, but enough that it feels fucking amazing. He lets his head tip back against the window, says, "I'm gonna come," because you should always give some warning, and then he has pretty much the most amazing orgasm in recent memory.

He slumps down into the seat, completely boneless. _Holy shit._

He hears the door opening and the guy spitting onto the concrete, which, okay, is kind of an afterglow killer, but what does Kesler expect? The guy's a hooker. He cracks his eyes open, and the guy throws Kesler's pants in his direction.

"Thanks," Kesler says. The guy gives him a weird look, then gets out of the backseat and back into the front.

 _Guess that moment's over then._ Kesler puts his pants on with fingers still stupid from his orgasm. Then he has to find his shoes.

When he gets back into the driver's seat, the guy is leaning on the window, one foot up on the dash. Kesler thinks about telling him not to, but then decides it isn't worth it. He drives back to the corner where he found him.

"So, uh, thanks? I guess?" Kesler says.

"Yeah, sure," the guy says, then gets out of the car and slams the door behind him.

_Okay._

Kesler starts driving away and realizes he forgot to ask for directions. _Fuck._ He feels like an idiot going back, so he turns on his GPS with little hope.

A map comes up immediately. "Turn left in 1.3 miles," it informs him.

"Screw you," he informs it, and starts to drive.

When he gets home, he pulls into his garage and drops his head onto his steering wheel. _Well, that was weird._ He still feels a little tingly all over, but also just ... really weird. He takes one deep breath and lifts his head. He reaches for his wallet in the cup holder next to him, and his hand closes on nothing. _What the fuck?_

He looks. There is no wallet there. He checks his pockets, even though he distinctly remembers putting his wallet in the cup holder after paying the hooker. He checks the floor and under the seats. His wallet is nowhere to be found.

"Motherfucker," he says.

\---

He has practice the next morning, and they leave for a road trip through California in the afternoon. He has to cancel all his credit cards and his debit card, and he can't get replacements until after he comes back. At least he still has his passport.

"How did you manage to lose your wallet?" Bieksa asks after Kesler badgers him into paying for Kesler's dinner.

Kesler shrugs. There is no way he's telling the truth. "Couldn't find it. I'll try and find a bank tomorrow afternoon. If not, you can just pay for my things until we get back."

Bieksa snorts. "Try that one on Burr. I'm not paying for you the whole time."

"You're a terrible roommate," Kesler scolds.

The worst part is, he is so fucking angry, and he can't tell anyone. And the more he has to ask his teammates to pay for him and argue with the bank about giving him cash, the angrier he gets.

By the time he gets home 5 nights later, he's still angry, and he's ready to march down to that corner and demand an explanation. They don't get in until 3am, though, and he figures showing up delirious from lack of sleep won't be that intimidating.

The next night, though, after being forced to take Juice and Burr out for an expensive dinner to thank them for paying his way on the road trip (which he's basically going to be paying for forever), he looks through his GPS for the way back to that corner.

The guys on the corner all look up when his car pulls up, and he can see the speculative looks on most of their faces at the nice car. Jesus, he really was an idiot to have missed that last time.

The guy from last week doesn't look speculative, though. Kesler's pretty sure he recognizes the car, because he looks surprised. Kesler throws the car into park and gets out before anyone can get to his window, because he is not going to be the one on the defensive this time. He makes sure to lock the car behind him, because he's learned his lesson, thank you very much.

He marches right up to the guy. The guy's expression melts from surprise into a smirk, and he slouches, pushing his hips forward.

"Back for seconds?" he says. The other guys lose interest in the interaction now that Kesler isn't going to pay them.

"Hardly," Kesler says. "I think you have something of mine."

"Don't know what you're talking about." The guy shrugs.

"I think you do," Kesler says. "What with you stealing my wallet and all."

"Don't know what you're talking about," the guy repeats. "Maybe you should be more careful with your things."

"Maybe I should call the police," Kesler says.

The guy frowns. Kesler feels absurdly proud of knocking the smug look off his face.

"Didn't you cancel all your credit cards and shit anyway?"

"Of course I did. I don't want to have to get a new license and I fucking want it back. I'm ready to call the police right now. If you think they might not believe me..."

"Don't call the fucking police, all right? I don't have your wallet, but I can give you something else instead."

"What could you possibly give me?"

The guy raises his eyebrows. "You have a thing against blowjobs?"

"You -- what?"

"Pretty simple," the guy says. "In return for you not calling the police, I'll give you a blowjob. On the house."

"Don't you mean pre-paid?" Kesler glares.

The guy shrugs. "Whatever. You want it or not?"

"What, so you can steal something else from my car?"

"Or we could use the alley. I promise no one will steal anything from your car."

Kesler can't think of anything he'd like less than getting blown in an alley, which is probably extremely unsanitary.

"It better be good," he says.

"I'm always good," the guy says over his shoulder as he walks to the alley.

"You're awfully sure of yourself," Kesler says.

"I didn't hear any complaints from you last time."

Kesler can't argue with that, because it was actually pretty awesome. _Dammit._

"Here." The guy grabs Kesler's shoulders and moves him against the wall. Then he drops to his knees and undoes Kesler's fly.

He looks up when he sees that Kesler's almost completely hard already, and fuck if that look doesn't make him harder. Kesler hates his life.

Then the guy leans in and licks Kesler's cock, and dirty alley or no, this is pretty great. The guy goes to work licking, sucking, one hand at the base of Kesler's cock and one hand playing with his balls.

Kesler isn't proud of the way he moans when that happens, but his dick is quickly overcoming his pride, and he's really okay with that.

He has no qualms about fucking the guy's mouth without prompting this time, and the guy just takes it, tipping his head a little so that Kesler goes deeper.

He at least can say he lasts a little longer this time. And he stops his knees from buckling as he comes, which is also a plus.

The guy turns his head and spits, then stands and waits for Kesler to zip himself back up.

"So no calling the police, right?"

Kesler should. He knows he should, and he already knows he's not going to.

"Yeah, okay," he says, and walks back to his car.

It only takes him slightly less time to figure out what's missing this time, but he's already turning into his neighborhood when he glances at his wrist and doesn't see his watch.

He blinks a couple of times, sure that it can't possibly be missing, but it is, and Kesler doesn't know whether to punch something or bang his head against the window.

Maybe he'll do both.

Kesler knows he should just let it go. Either call the police for real, or leave it and just never go back.

But his grandfather gave him that watch when he was drafted. It may not be the nicest watch, but it means a lot to him, and he doesn't want the guy to pawn it off.

So the next night he has free, he goes down to the corner. It's slightly disturbing that he doesn't really need his GPS to get him there.

"Just give me the watch back," he says without any preamble. The guy opens his mouth, and Kesler doesn't wait for him to say anything. "Seriously, cut the banter, I don't care, I just want my watch back."

The guy shrugs, reaches into his back pocket, and hands Kesler the watch. Kesler slips it onto his wrist and takes a deep breath of relief.

"Thanks," he snaps, and turns back to his car. Halfway there, he looks back over his shoulder. "Well? Are you coming or what?"

Kesler is pretty much aware that he is his own worst enemy.

The guy doesn't waste much time following him, and when he gets in the car, Kesler hands him a wad of cash. It's two hundred dollars that Kesler told himself he was bringing in case he needed to buy his watch back. The guy counts it and wordlessly pockets it.

"What's your name, anyway?" Kesler asks, because thinking of him as 'the guy' is getting tiring.

"Andrew," he says.

"Not Andy?" Kesler asks.

"No." Andrew scowls, and Kesler lets it go.

Kesler parks in the same lot as before. He moves his seat all the way back and turns to look at Andrew.

"Do you fuck as well as you suck cock?"

"Of course," Andrew says.

Kesler looks at his lap, then back at Andrew. "Well?"

Andrew kicks off his shoes and takes off his pants. He's not wearing underwear. Kesler tries not to find that hot. It's probably just easier in his line of work.

Kesler manages to get his pants below his knees before Andrew climbs over onto his lap. He settles his weight on Kesler's thighs, and it's heavy but good. The way Andrew's cock brushes against Kesler's is good too. Kesler lets his head fall back against the headrest and huffs out a little breath.

"Just couldn't get enough, huh?" Andrew asks, moving his hips so that their cocks brush again, more firmly this time.

"Jesus, are you gonna talk or are you gonna get on my dick?" Kesler says through his gasp.

"Condom," Andrew says. "Lube."

Kesler flips up the armrest in answer. It's not that he was planning this, exactly. He just likes to be prepared. "Put it on me," he says.

Andrew grabs a condom, but doesn't open it right away. Instead he wraps one hand around Kesler's cock.

"This isn't getting on my dick," Kesler says, even as his hips jerk.

"I'm just having a hard time believing you're this easy," Andrew says, his hand moving lazily. "Being a big famous hockey player doesn't get you laid?"

 _Not like this,_ Kesler almost says, but doesn't. Jesus, how does Andrew even have any other clients? He gets his hands around Andrew's hips and jerks him forward, hard. His hips are kinda bony, actually. Maybe he doesn't have any other clients. Then Kesler dismisses the thought because it's stupid, and also he has better things to think about. Like Andrew's cock, now very snug up against his own.

"Put the condom on me," Kesler growls. His fingers are pressing into Andrew's hips hard enough to bruise. He wonders if it will, and then Andrew is finally putting on the condom and reaching to stretch himself and _fuck fuck fuck,_ Kesler knew that would be hot, but seeing it doesn't even compare to how it was in his head.

Andrew lifts himself, balancing with his hands on Kesler's shoulders, and then he's lowering himself onto Kesler's dick. Kesler can't stop himself from moaning loudly.

"Fuck," he breathes out when he's all the way inside Andrew.

"Been a while?" Andrew smirks.

"Shut up and move," Kesler says, and bucks his hips up in emphasis. Andrew grunts and starts moving, fuck yes.

Kesler gets his hands back on Andrew's hips and watches the muscles in his thighs flex. He hasn't fucked another guy in years. He hadn't realized he missed it so much, but this feels amazing, and he's kicking himself for denying himself for so long.

He reaches down to jerk Andrew off, because that's generally the polite thing to do when you're fucking someone, but when he gets his hand around Andrew's dick, he realizes Andrew isn't even hard. Kesler supposes that makes sense, since this isn't exactly a sexy thing for Andrew, more of a business thing. And probably most people don't care if their hooker is enjoying it.

But Kesler suddenly feels weird about the whole thing, Andrew bouncing in his lap  
\-- which still feels awesome -- but not even being hard. _This is what you get for picking up a hooker,_ he tells himself. _What did you expect?_

He keeps jerking Andrew off, because he figures that can't hurt.

"You don't have to do that," Andrew grunts.

"Don't I get to do what I want?" Kesler asks. "Then shut up," he says before Andrew can answer.

After a few minutes Andrew does start to get hard, and the movement of his hips gets a little off rhythm. Kesler fist-pumps in his head and changes the angle of his hips a little, and Andrew's fingers tighten on his shoulders. Andrew's eyes flutter a little and he drops his head back. _Now that,_ Kesler thinks, _is fucking sexy._ It's just what he needs to really get going, and he comes a few minutes later, fingers digging into Andrew's hips again.

By the time his limbs are working again, Andrew's climbed off his lap and thrown the condom out the window.

"I can," Kesler offers with a wave of his hand.

"It's fine," Andrew says shortly. He's already putting his pants back on. _Well, fine then._ Kesler pulls his pants back up, moving as little as possible.

He drops Andrew back at the corner.

"Later," Andrew says when he gets out. He slams the door before Kesler can tell him that no, he's never coming back to this corner again.

Kesler's learning. He remembers to check all of his belongings just as he's getting on the freeway. Sure enough, he can't find his iPod anywhere.

"You little shit," he mutters.

\---

"Will I ever see my iPod again?" Kesler asks the next time he sees Andrew, a week and a half later.

"Huh, what?" Andrew says. "Are we going or what?"

Kesler pays Andrew more than the blowjob he asks for is worth, even though he doesn't think it will actually stop Andrew from taking something. It takes him a few minutes to figure it out when he gets home that night, and then he realizes that his Michigan atlas is missing from the passenger side door. What Andrew will even do with a Michigan atlas, Kesler doesn't know.

\---

Over the next few weeks, Andrew takes a pair of Kesler’s gloves, a Coach bag containing a present for his mom, a travel coffee mug, and his expensive sunglasses. Some of it Kesler gets back (his mom’s present, his mug) and some he doesn't (he doesn’t even bring up the gloves). But he always has to go back and ask, and every time he ends up having sex with Andrew. The fact that each time, he comes prepared with a couple hundred in cash is something he doesn't think about. He also doesn't think about the fact that he doesn't get mad anymore when he realizes something is missing.

Whatever. He's getting laid and he's playing great, so there's really no need to complain.

\---

Kesler heads over to Andrew's corner after a game against the Wild. He's pumped because they won, and the playoffs are in a few weeks and they are going to do awesome. This is their year, he can feel it.

There's some kind of activity on the corner, he sees when he gets closer. There are way more people around than normal. When he pulls up he can see it's a fight, and _oh shit,_ Andrew is one of the participants. Kesler throws the car into park and runs out, barely remembering to lock it.

He was gonna help Andrew out, but by the time he gets there, Andrew's knocked the other guy down, and he's kneeling over him with his forearm over the guy's throat. He whispers something into the guy's ear.

So Andrew's clearly won the fight, and now Kesler is just standing there, gaping. He feels incredibly awkward. But Andrew looks over up at him then and grins.

"Ready to go?" he says. His mouth is bloody and there's a red spot high on his cheek that Kesler can tell will bruise. Kesler would be weirded out that he pops a boner right then and there, but, well, he's a hockey player.

Andrew's practically vibrating in the passenger seat, and Kesler makes an executive decision. Instead of driving to the lot, he drives to the nearest drug store.

"Stay," he tells Andrew, who sticks out his bloody tongue at him. Kesler quickly gathers the things Andrew will need. Kesler's pretty familiar with them.

Andrew is still in the car, which is good, but Kesler just gave him freer rein than normal to steal from him, which sucks. Couldn't be avoided, though.

Kesler tosses the bag at Andrew's feet and drives to a motel he's seen a few times. He gets a room and hopes like hell the clerk doesn't email Deadspin or something.

"Aw, how sweet," Andrew says, holding up the bag when Kesler gets back.

"Hygiene," Kesler says. Andrew rolls his eyes. "Come on." He lets them into the room and pushes Andrew gently in the direction of the bathroom. "Clean yourself up."

Andrew goes without protest. He spills the bag onto the counter and starts patching himself up. He seems pretty used to it. Kesler doesn't offer to help.

He sprawls out on the bed and turns on the TV. They're showing game highlights on the news, and goddamn, they were awesome tonight.

The comforter is scratchy beneath him and the pillows are flat, but it's not exactly the Hyatt. Kesler shifts, anticipation making him restless.

Andrew comes out a few minutes later. His mouth is no longer bloody; he has Band-Aids across his knuckles and a few on his ribs. He lost his shirt in the bathroom, and Kesler can see the places on his ribs and chest where he'll bruise. He licks his lips without thinking about it, and he can see Andrew's eyes track it.

Andrew crawls up the bed until he's straddling Kesler. "Like seeing me all beat up, pervert?"

Kesler opens his mouth to explain about the hockey thing, but Andrew rocks his hips down and it just turns into a gasp. Andrew does it again, and he's _hard_ , and Kesler hasn't even touched him yet.

"Like getting all beat up?" Kesler asks, and bucks his hips up to meet Andrew's.

Kesler had vague ideas about not being rough with Andrew, but they all go out the window when Andrew leans down and bites Kesler's shoulder, hard.

"You were saying?" Andrew asks.

Kesler reaches up and slides his hands down Andrew's chest, making sure to press in all the places that are going to bruise. Andrew moans and rocks his hips again.

_Fuck._

Kesler flips them over so Andrew's on his back with Kesler hovering over him. With two fingers, he presses down on the red mark on Andrew's cheek. Andrew's mouth drops open in a gasp, so Kesler puts his thumb in there. Andrew sucks on it like it's Kesler's cock, and if the cuts in his mouth hurt, Kesler can't tell.

Kesler lets Andrew suck on it for a few minutes before he pulls his hand away. He goes straight for Andrew's fly and struggles to pull the tight jeans down. _How does Andrew always make this look so easy?_ Andrew lifts his hips off the bed, but other than that, doesn't help.

Kesler finally gets them off and throws them to the other side of the room. _Stupid jeans._ He grabs the lube and turns back to Andrew, who is laid out on the bed and hard, and Kesler has to concentrate to not embarrass himself. He lubes up his fingers and presses one into Andrew's ass. Usually Andrew preps himself, but usually they don't have this much space, and Kesler is enjoying this. He reaches back to Andrew's face and presses back on the soon-to-be bruise.

"Another," Andrew says, and Kesler presses another finger inside. "Don't need much prep, just do it," Andrew continues, and fuck, Kesler figured as much, but hearing him say it is something else.

He finger-fucks Andrew for a while longer, just because he doesn't want to do what Andrew tells him right away, until Andrew snaps, "Jesus, are you gonna fuck me or what?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Kesler says. Condom, more lube, and then he's inside Andrew and there are obscene noises coming from Andrew's mouth like Kesler's never heard. Not like Andrew acts totally bored all the time, but shit, never like this.

Kesler fucks him hard, harder than usual, and Andrew's into it, and when Kesler starts jerking him off, he comes in Kesler's hand. Andrew has never let Kesler get him off before, and watching him tense and his mouth open and feeling his jizz pushes Kesler right over the edge.

He has enough presence of mind not to collapse straight onto Andrew, but that's about it. They lie there, breathing deeply, until Kesler convinces himself to the get the fuck up and throw away the condom.

When he walks out of the bathroom, Andrew hasn't moved. In fact, it looks like Andrew's asleep. Kesler leans over him and yes, he is asleep. _Now that's weird._ It's probably an adrenaline crash, but still, pretty weird.

Kesler puts his boxers on and turns the TV back on. He'll let Andrew sleep it off, then drive him back. But half an hour later, Andrew is still sleeping. He’s rolled over onto his side and pulled his knees up a little. Kesler's starting to crash himself, and if he doesn't leave soon, he's going to fall asleep here. He considers waking Andrew up, but he did pay for the room for the night. Someone might as well use it. And the kid looks like he could use the sleep.

Kesler gets dressed, and then gets the rest of his cash from his wallet and tucks it into the pocket of Andrew's jeans. Not like Andrew will ask, but if he does, Kesler will just claim he forgot he already paid him.

He goes home and falls straight into bed, not even bothering to look for what Andrew stole from him this time. It isn’t until the next morning he realizes that Andrew took his Rogers Arena parking pass from the mirror.

\---

When the playoffs start, Kesler doesn't see Andrew for weeks and weeks. There's no room for sex in Kesler's life, only hockey. Then he feels something go in his hip, and he's not sure if he could have sex even if he wanted. He still plays, of course, and the trainers and doctors are constantly injecting him with stuff and telling him he should rest, but then they're in the _finals_ and that's just not going to happen.

Then the finals are over, and they lost, and Kesler half expects to wake up -- it's that horrible watching the Bruins skate around with the fucking Cup that should have been theirs. Should have been his.

And then he can't even go home, because people are fucking rioting and the team won't let them leave until it's safer.

After a couple hours, they're given the all clear, and they all trudge out to the players' lot. Kesler's walking with Juice and Burr and a couple other guys, but no one talks. When Kesler looks up from the pavement to his car, there's Andrew, sitting on his hood, smoking a cigarette.

Kesler's just numb right now. He mostly just wants to go home and go to sleep. And tomorrow he wants to play video games and get drunk. Also, his hip is fucking killing him. He has no idea what to do right now.

"Um, should we call security?" someone asks.

Kesler sighs. "He isn't doing anything. I'll handle it." He waves everyone off and does his best not to limp to the car.

"You shouldn't smoke."

"I'm not a professional athlete," Andrew says. "It won't impede my job."

Kesler considers telling him that it's all cleared up now and he can leave, but instead he says, "Get in the car."

He just wants to go home, so that's where he drives them. It's incredibly stupid. Andrew will probably have half his possessions sold off by the time he wakes up, but Kesler just doesn't have the energy to care.

He walks without limping as best he can up to his room. Andrew follows without saying anything, which is unusual for Andrew, but whatever.

"I'm going to sleep," Kesler says. "I will pay you quadruple to not rob me while I'm doing that."

Andrew just shrugs, puts his backpack down, takes off his pants, and gets under the covers.

"Nice bed," he says. He sounds sincere, which is weird, but then Kesler considers that Andrew is almost as tall as him, and it _is_ a nice bed.

"Thanks," he says. He's asleep in approximately 30 seconds.

\---

When he wakes up 14 hours later, he can smell coffee and maybe some real food. Which is good, because he's starving.

Andrew's sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee, eating eggs and a bagel, and reading the paper. His hair is wet, and he smells like Kesler's shampoo.

Kesler goes to the fridge for a bottle of water and drinks it all in four big gulps. Then he opens another one and finds his painkillers.

"There's more eggs, if you need to eat with that," Andrew says. There are, in fact, scrambled eggs in a pan.

"You cook?" Kesler asks.

"I gotta eat, don't I?"

Kesler knows plenty of people who wouldn't be able to cook if their lives depended on it. But those are mostly hockey players, and he imagines hookers can take better care of themselves.

He eats eggs and drinks a cup of coffee and the rest of his water. He's wondering if Andrew will clean up, too, when Andrew turns to him and says, "So you want a blowjob or what?"

"Um," Kesler says.

Usually he's not that taken aback by blowjob offers from hookers (not that, like, he's hung out with a lot of hookers besides Andrew, but whatever), but this takes him by surprise. Andrew is just looking at him with his eyebrows raised.

"Yes?" Kesler says.

"Cool," Andrew says, and slides off his chair and onto his knees.

Afterward, Andrew does not clean the kitchen. Kesler offers to drive him home, and Andrew disappears upstairs for a while before coming down with his bag.

Kesler's kind of curious to see where Andrew lives, but Andrew has Kesler drop him off at his corner, so Kesler doesn't get to see it.

When he gets home, he goes upstairs to shower, and something looks off about the bathroom.

It's his toothbrush. His toothbrush is missing.

And later, he can't find the paper anywhere, even though he swears Andrew was reading it this morning.

Next time he goes down to the corner, Kesler says, "I will buy you a toothbrush if you need one."

Andrew looks at him like he's insane, so Kesler shuts up and keeps undressing him.

\---

Kesler's mom comes out when he has the surgery and stays for a week. Then she has to go stay with Todd's kids. Kesler assures her that he'll be okay, and he actually has friends, and even if he didn't he could pay someone if he needed help, which he doesn't, because he's _totally fine._

A few hours after his mom leaves, the doorbell rings. It's Andrew.

Kesler hasn't seen Andrew in a few weeks, what with press and the surgery and everything. Andrew has a cut on his lip that looks a few days old, but otherwise looks the same.

"What are you doing here?" Kesler asks.

"Should you be walking?"

"I'm fine," Kesler says.

"Fine enough to get it up?" Andrew asks, and brushes past Kesler and into the house.

Kesler hates to admit it, but he probably can't get it up. Also, what the hell is Andrew doing here? Kesler isn't stupid enough to think that Andrew missed him or anything. And the timing is a little too good to be a coincidence. Kesler tries to convince himself that Andrew was not watching his house, but he can't quite do it.

Kesler finds Andrew in the kitchen, drinking a bottle of water.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, because he can't bring himself to ask if Andrew is stalking him. Andrew shrugs, which Kesler takes as a yes. He moves to the fridge, and Andrew glares.

"Sit the fuck down. Jesus."

Kesler glares back. "I'm fine."

"You get a line right here when you're in pain." Andrew's finger touches between Kesler's brows. Kesler is so surprised he lets Andrew push him into a chair.

Andrew starts rummaging around in the fridge. "You want something?"

"No," Kesler says, and just watches as Andrew makes himself a huge sandwich and inhales it, and drinks a bottle of Gatorade.

He doesn't know what to do with Andrew after that. He doesn't seem like he's going to leave any time soon.

"You wanna play some video games?" he finally asks.

Andrew shrugs. "Okay."

Andrew fusses when Kesler sits down in the den until Kesler snaps at him; then he flops down on the couch, and grabs the controller when Kesler hands it to him.

They play NHL 11. Andrew's not very good, but Kesler doesn't suppose being a hooker affords him a lot of chances to play Xbox. Also, Kesler's pretty sure he picks the Blackhawks just to piss Kesler off, so he doesn't feel bad when he kicks his ass.

Eventually Kesler orders dinner for them, and they eat in mostly silence. Andrew doesn't seem bothered by it. Kesler takes his meds and turns on a movie. He must fall asleep, because next thing he knows, Andrew is shaking him.

"I don't think sleeping there is good for your hip," he says. He's probably right, and Kesler is too fuzzy from sleep to argue, so he lets Andrew lead him up to his bedroom.

"There's an extra toothbrush in the drawer," Kesler says before passing out.

The next morning Andrew has breakfast and coffee ready. The other side of the bed was messed up, so Kesler assumes he slept at some point.

"I have a doctor's appointment today," Kesler says when he's done eating.

"Okay," Andrew says. "Can you drive?"

"Can you?"

"Sure," Andrew says. Kesler guesses the better question would be if he has a license. He doesn't ask.

"I can drive," he says instead.

"Okay," Andrew says and starts loading the dishwasher.

Kesler narrows his eyes. "Andrew," he says. "What are you doing?"

"The dishes?" Andrew says.

"Here," Kesler says. "What are you doing here?"

Andrew crosses his arms. It's the first time he's looked defensive since he showed up. "You need help, don't you?"

"No," Kesler says. Andrew ignores him.

"So instead of hiring some stranger, you can hire me. I can do other things besides suck cock, you know."

There are a lot of things that Kesler should say. That Andrew _is_ a stranger, for one. And not a medical professional, for another. But he doesn't. He says, "Okay."

Things go on like that for a few days. Andrew cooks and cleans, sort of, and yells at Kesler for overdoing it, even though Kesler is _fine_ , seriously. He watches TV and gets a lot better at NHL 11, and still insists as playing as the Blackhawks.

Kesler wonders if Andrew doesn't have somewhere else to be. Not that he'd be making more money on the corner, because God knows what he'll end up charging Kesler for this stunt. But Kesler doesn't even know if he has, like, a pimp or something. He doesn't know how this all works. He didn't even really believe Vancouver had hookers until his GPS went insane and found Andrew.

Just when Kesler is getting used to having Andrew around, the doorbell rings while they're eating lunch. Andrew goes to get it and comes back with Bieksa.

Bieksa looks confused, and Andrew looks blank. That kind of purposeful blank that Kesler hadn't even realized he hadn't seen in a while.

"Hey, Juice," he says, for lack of anything better.

"Yo," Bieksa says.

"I'll be back later," Andrew says abruptly, and leaves. The front door slams a few seconds later.

"Sooooo," Bieksa says, "who's that?"

"Um," Kesler says. "He's helping me out after my mom left. He's a ... friend." That might not even be a lie. Kesler supposes they're sort of friends now.

"Okay, just to be clear, that's the guy that was sitting on your car after the finals, right?"

"Yes?" Kesler says, because it would be silly to deny that now.

"So is he a friend or, like, a _friend_?"

"What makes you say that?" Kesler asks.

"He was wearing your shirt."

 _Oh._ Kesler forgot about that. Andrew showed up with exactly two changes of clothes, and Kesler had told him to wear his stuff instead of dealing with the washing machine.

"We're not, like, dating or anything," Kesler says, which is at least the truth.

"Where'd you find him? Because Burr thought he looked like a rentboy."

"Um."

Bieksa's eyes widen, and Kesler curses himself.

"You're letting a hooker stay with you?" Bieksa hisses.

"It's not ... I mean, I'm paying him. I mean, fuck. I'm paying him to, you know, cook and clean and stuff."

"Oh my God, you are such an idiot. What if he steals all your stuff?"

"He already steals my stuff," Kesler says. It doesn't come out as reassuring as he meant it.

Bieksa drops his head into his hands. "When you get murdered in your sleep, I'm going to say I told you so."

"If he murdered me in my sleep, he wouldn't get paid," Kesler points out. "Besides, he's too busy nagging me about resting my hip to murder me."

Bieksa looks up at Kesler incredulously. "Only you, Kes. Only you. How long is he staying?"

"I don't know, we haven't really talked about it." Bieksa drops his head back into his hands. "It's gonna be fine, Juice."

"What can I say to convince you this is a terrible idea?"

Kesler shrugs.

"Jesus," Bieksa says. "He better give the best blowjobs ever."

They're pretty close, but Kesler's not going to say that.

"I want to talk to him."

"Threaten him, you mean?"

"Same diff," Bieksa says.

"No," Kesler says. "Besides, he probably won't even come back until he knows you're gone."

"You text me every day or I'm coming over here with the police," Bieksa says.

"Geez, overreact much? And I text you every day anyway."

"I'm serious, Kes."

"Fine, I'll text you every day, Mom."

Bieksa finally leaves, and Kesler waits for Andrew to show back up.

Hours go by, and there's no sign of him. Kesler orders dinner for two, eats it, and puts Andrew's portion in the fridge. Another hour goes by, and Kesler's starting to get worried. Not like Andrew can't take care of himself or anything. Kesler's sure there is literally nothing to be worried about. Still, he paces around until his hip aches, and then he sits on the couch with the TV turned to TSN, not hearing a word.

Andrew took his backpack with him, but nothing of Kesler's seems to be missing, so he assumes Andrew plans to come back.

Around 10, Kesler hears the door open. He starts to get off the couch, then drops back down. He's not gonna act like it was a big deal or something. Because it's not.

Andrew comes in, his fingers curled around the straps of his backpack so tight that his knuckles are white.

"So do you want me to go?" he asks sullenly.

"What?" Kesler says. "Do you have somewhere to be?"

"No, I just--"

"There's dinner in the fridge," Kesler says, because he is not fucking talking about this.

Andrew stands there for a second, then puts his backpack down. "What'd you get?"

\---

About a week later, the doctors give Kesler the go-ahead to go back to the gym as long as he takes it easy and does the approved exercises, blah blah blah. Kesler celebrates by going home, finding Andrew (he's in the den reading Sports Illustrated), and blowing him. Then he drags him upstairs, fucks him, and decides that he can wait to go to the gym until tomorrow.

The next day he drags Andrew to the gym with him. Andrew's already put on weight in the week-plus he's been staying with Kesler, and Kesler knows he uses the treadmill in the basement sometimes. It'll be good for him. Kesler has had a few fleeting thoughts about how the weight looks good on Andrew, but he doesn't like to dwell on them.

\---

Kesler didn't even really think about it when he booked his flights. He always goes back to Michigan in the summer. And he just continues to not think about it until Bieksa brings it up. In typical Bieksa fashion, he texts, "ur not letting the hooker stay at ur place while ur gone r u??"

He has a point. Except now Kesler's feeling weirdly guilty about telling Andrew that he has to leave because Kesler's leaving. Which is stupid. It's not like Andrew doesn't have a place to stay. You know, probably.

Kesler puts off bringing it up until a couple days before. They're playing Call of Duty after dinner and Kesler just says, really casually, "So I'm leaving for Michigan on Wednesday. I'll be gone a couple weeks."

Andrew freezes for a second, long enough for his character to get shot, and then his expression shuts down. "I can get out of your hair," he says coolly, and drops his controller.

"Wait," Kesler says. "I didn't mean -- You can --" but he stops himself because that's exactly what he meant, and he's not offering to let a hooker stay at his house for two weeks while he's not here. "I mean, uh, I'm not leaving till Wednesday. I might need, um, help, before then."

Andrew smirks at him. "Help? What kind of help?"

"Oh, you know," Kesler says, "dusting. Mopping. I think my coffee machine needs to be descaled."

Andrew straddles Kesler's lap. "I don't even know what that means," he says. He sticks his hand in Kesler's shorts. "How about a handjob instead?"

"Well, if you insist."

\---

When Wednesday rolls around, Kesler pays Andrew a truly obscene amount of money, and Andrew refuses a cab home. Kesler's not even sure what Andrew will do with all that money. He hopes it doesn't get stolen. The neighborhood Andrew hangs out in, that's pretty likely. Because if it got stolen, Andrew would probably just make Kesler pay him again. He's not at all worried about Andrew's safety. Andrew can take care of himself.

Kesler goes home to Michigan, and he hangs out with his family and works out and starts skating again. With all that going on, he really doesn't have time to think of Andrew at all. Except sometimes when he's jerking off, and that's because Andrew is the last person he had sex with, and that's totally natural.

His mom asks about how he got along after she left, and Kesler makes vague statements about a friend helping him out.

"You have friends who aren't on the team?" Jenny jokes. "Did you pay them?"

"Ha ha," Kesler says, and changes the subject.

\---

Kesler gets back to Vancouver late on a Thursday night, and the house is dark and empty. As it should be, since no one's been there for two weeks, and no one should be there.

He's tired, so he lugs his bag up to his room, promises to unpack it tomorrow, undresses, and gets in bed. He has his whole bed back again, which is cool. Not that Andrew was a bed hog or anything. He mostly just curled up on one side and put the blankets over his head. It was a good thing Kesler's not into cuddling, or whatever.

He tosses and turns a little bit, trying to get comfortable. The thing about having to share his bed, though, was that it meant sex whenever he wanted. Once he could have sex again. He could go for getting off right now, but he doesn't feel like jerking off. He could definitely go for a blowjob right now, but his bed is, as previously noted, empty, and Andrew is probably back on his corner. Which is fine. It's how it should be. It just means that Kesler won't be getting a blowjob unless he goes and gets Andrew.

He seriously considers it for about three seconds, but he really doesn't want to move. Also, it's kind of pathetic.

Kesler makes himself wait a few days before he goes to Andrew's corner. The first time he drives by, Andrew isn't there, which is extremely irritating. Kesler goes to the drug store and wanders around for a little bit. He picks up a couple bottles of Gatorade, and more condoms, just because you can never really have enough. He loiters in the aisle flipping through The Hockey News. When he gets back to Andrew's corner, Andrew is there.

Kesler waits impatiently while Andrew says something to the kids around him and then saunters to Kesler's car.

"Hey," Kesler says, when Andrew closes the door.

"Hey," Andrew says. He reaches down into the drug store bag and pulls out one of the bottles of Gatorade. Kesler's about to snap at him and say it's not for him, but he realizes that it's Andrew's favorite flavor, so maybe he did get it for Andrew.

He needs to get laid.

Kesler automatically starts driving home, and then feels like an idiot because Andrew isn't staying with him anymore. He goes to the motel instead. If Andrew has an opinion, he doesn't say.

When they get to the motel, Andrew starts undressing. "What do you want, mouth? Ass?"

"Um," Kesler says. He's a little busy watching Andrew, even though Andrew isn't making a show of it or anything. He's lost a little of the weight and definition he gained working out with Kesler, but not much. There are a few fading bruises on his face and ribs. It's kind of hot, but doesn't point to a safe few weeks. Whatever, that's not Kesler's business.

Andrew is still looking at him, but before Kesler can come up with an answer, Andrew says, "Too late, I choose."

Andrew pulls him over to the bed, strips him efficiently, then pushes him down on his stomach.

Then he spends a long time rimming Kesler, while Kesler moans and tries not to come embarrassingly fast.

After, while Kesler is still trying to find the scattered pieces of his brain, Andrew starts moving around. "Well," he says, "guess that's my cue to--"

"Fuck me," Kesler says before Andrew can finish.

"What?" Andrew says. Kesler turns and glares at him.

"Pretty simple request," he snaps.

"Fuck you," Andrew says, but he's reaching for Kesler's jeans and the condoms in the pocket.

"That's what I'm waiting for," Kesler says.

Andrew flops onto Kesler's chest when he's done, and Kesler grabs the back of his thigh. It's an implicit order to stay where he is. Kesler's still not into cuddling or anything, but Andrew's weight feels good against him. Especially now, when he's feeling a little shaky. It's been a long time since he let someone do that.

Their breathing evens out, and after a minute Kesler can feel Andrew tense up, so he lets go and says, "Oof."

"Whatever," Andrew says. "You're a big strong hockey player. You can take it."

He goes into the bathroom and when he comes out, he throws a washcloth at Kesler's chest. "Five star service, me."

"Yeah right," Kesler snorts. He wipes down his chest, and his left arm, and his neck, Jesus. "Gimme, like, 10 minutes, and I'll drive you back."

"Whatever," Andrew says. He puts on his jeans and drops down onto the bed next to Kesler. "How's the hip?" He asks like he doesn't care, but he asked, and Kesler smiles.

"Getting better. I'm skating now. Still not game-worthy though."

\---

A few weeks after that, Kesler gets a call at 3am. He was sleeping, so he's already irritated when he picks up the phone. It's probably just a wrong number.

It's not a wrong number, it's Andrew.

"Wait, what?" Kesler says.

"I said, could you please come bail me out?" He pauses. "I will make it worth your while." He sounds tense. Kesler guesses that happens when you're in jail.

"How do you even know my number?" Kesler asks. Andrew doesn't have his number. Andrew doesn't have a cell phone.

"Can we discuss that later? Like, when I'm not here?"

"Okay," Kesler says. "Where are you?"

It's almost 4:30 by the time Kesler gets to the police station where Andrew is.

It's not like he's ever done this before, and it would be just his luck for someone to tell the press he was here. No one seems to care though. He talks to an officer, pays, and signs some paperwork. He asks what Andrew was picked up for. The officer glances at the paperwork, says, "Trespassing," and hands him a pen. Kesler signs, then, out of curiosity, looks for Andrew’s last name. _Ladd. Huh._

It's almost half an hour more before Andrew shows up. He's limping, and half of his face is bruised.

"What--" Kesler starts, but Andrew just growls, "Later," and stalks past him.

Kesler catches up to Andrew at his car, where Andrew is waiting by the passenger door. Kesler unlocks the doors and gets in. Andrew doesn’t look in any mood to talk, so Kesler starts driving. Fuck, he's tired.

He waits until they're on the highway until he says, "So, where were you trespassing?"

Andrew rolls his eyes. "I wasn't trespassing. They like to pick us up for solicitation every once in a while. To keep us in our place or something."

"But the paperwork said--"

"I didn't think you'd want your signature associated with solicitation. I convinced an officer to change it to something else."

"And they did it?"

Andrew glares at him. "I'm fucking convincing, okay?"

_Oh._

They're turning into Kesler's neighborhood when he realizes he didn't even offer to drive Andrew home. _Well, whatever._ He's tired, and Andrew did say he'd make it worth Kesler's while. Probably Kesler can decide where that happens.

But it's not gonna happen right now, because Kesler is wiped. The sun is starting to come up when they pull into the garage.

Andrew stops at the bottom of the steps.

"I can sleep on the couch," he says.

"Why?" Kesler asks without thinking, then realizes that maybe Andrew _wants_ to sleep alone. He did, after all, just have a traumatic experience. Or something. Maybe. "I mean, uh, if you want, I have a guest room?"

Andrew shifts around, then winces when he puts weight on his left foot. "Never mind. Your room is fine."

"You don't have to," Kesler says, and feels ridiculous.

"It's fine," Andrew says, and starts up the stairs. It looks painful, and Kesler's first instinct is to help, but Andrew kinda looks like he'd push Kesler down the stairs if he offered, so he doesn't.

Instead, he goes to his bathroom and finds painkillers and an Ace bandage.

"Sit down," Kesler orders when Andrew gets to the room.

Andrew does, without a pithy comment, even, and leans down to take off his shoes. Kesler sets his supplies on the floor and sits down to start on the other one.

"I can take off my own shoes," Andrew says.

"I should hope so," Kesler says, and pulls the shoe off Andrew's foot. "Take off your pants."

"You say the sweetest things," Andrew says.

"Shut up," Kesler says. He tugs Andrew's jeans down and off and gets a good look at Andrew's left leg. The ankle is swollen, and Andrew gasps when Kesler touches it.

"I turned it when I fell," Andrew says. Kesler doesn't ask how he fell. He's guessing the bruises on his face have something to do with it.

"You should ice it," Kesler says. "I'll go get some, you take these." He hands Andrew the bottle of ibuprofen, and snags the half empty bottle of water from his nightstand. Andrew takes both silently, which Kesler guesses means he's really in pain.

While he's downstairs, Kesler calls and cancels his training session. It's in two hours and there's no way Kesler is going to be awake enough. His freezer is well stocked in ice packs, luckily. He grabs one and a protein bar, because the likelihood of Andrew having eaten anything recently is slim to nil, and the last thing Kesler needs is Andrew throwing that ibuprofen right back up.

When Kesler gets back to his room, Andrew is flat on his back with his feet still on the floor. Kesler might think he's asleep, but his head twitches to the side when Kesler walks in. He's taken his shirt off too, and unsurprisingly, his ribs are starting to show some bruising.

"Scoot up," Kesler says. Andrew does, slowly, until he's sitting up against the headboard. Kesler grabs an extra pillow from the closet, says, "Lift," and puts it under Andrew's ankle before wrapping the ice pack around it. He hands Andrew the protein bar.

"Gross," Andrew says, but opens it and starts eating.

Kesler finally, gratefully, undresses and drops onto his bed. He reaches over and turns off his alarm clock -- set to go off 45 minutes from now.

"Let me know if you need anything," he tells Andrew without lifting his head. Closing his eyes feels amazing.

"Yeah, okay," Andrew says. "Thanks."

Kesler would express his extreme surprise at that, but he's too busy falling asleep.

\---

Kesler wakes up four hours later feeling like he got hit by a truck. If that's how he feels, Andrew must feel worse. He rolls over on instinct, not because he expects to see Andrew. Andrew never once slept later than Kesler the entire time he stayed at the house.

But Andrew is there. And he's still asleep.

Kesler blinks a few times and considers going back to sleep himself. But the sunlight coming through the windows is too bright, and he's starting to get hungry.

He slips out of bed, careful not to disturb Andrew. If he wakes Andrew up, Andrew will complain, and Kesler's not up for that. He collects the lukewarm icepack from the floor and heads downstairs. He stares at the coffee while it brews, and then remembers that he's hungry. He has no energy to cook, so he toasts a bagel, and he uses the full fat cream cheese he used to buy for Andrew, because he's too fucking tired to stick to his diet right now.

He's also too tired for his kitchen table. He takes it all into the den with him, sits on the couch, and turns on TSN.

He must doze off, because next thing he knows he's woken up by a loud thump on the stairs. He flails his way off the couch and goes to see what's up.

It's Andrew, of course, hobbling his way down the steps, badly.

"Help?" Kesler asks. Andrew glares, so Kesler shrugs and watches him. He's probably stiff in addition to the ankle, which is still swollen. But if he doesn't want help, whatever.

He's breathing hard when he reaches the bottom of the stairs.

"Go sit in the den before you fall over," Kesler says.

Kesler gets another icepack and more ibuprofen from the kitchen and brings them to the den. He makes Andrew put his foot up on the coffee table and puts the ice on it. Back in the kitchen, he puts a bagel on the toaster and fixes two more cups of coffee.

When he's sure that neither he nor Andrew will need anything else for at least a few hours, he sits back down and looks forward to not moving. And maybe falling asleep again.

Andrew took control of the remote while he was in the kitchen, and now he flips through Kesler's various movie channels. He finally settles on The Bourne Identity, and Kesler settles in to watch.

About halfway through the movie, he looks over and sees Andrew sleeping, his head tipped back at an awkward angle. Kesler reaches over and rearranges Andrew's head so that it's resting against Kesler's shoulder. It's a sign of how exhausted Andrew must be that he doesn't wake up.

It's kind of weird, having Andrew sleeping on him like this. It's not really something they've done before. Kesler relaxes after a few minutes and decides it's not too bad. And it's better than Andrew complaining about a sore neck later.

He doesn't really fall asleep, he just zones out watching the movie until it ends and another one begins. He might want to start thinking about more food soon, but moving seems like a lot of effort.

The doorbell startles him upright, and Andrew awake.

"Ow, motherfucker!" Andrew says.

"Doorbell," Kesler says by way of explanation, and then it rings again. He should probably go answer it.

"You need to stop coming over unannounced," he says when he opens the door to Bieksa's face.

"You weren't at the gym," Bieksa says. "I thought you might be dead."

"I'm fine, I just didn't get much sleep last night,"

Bieksa walks past Kesler into the house, and Kesler just resigns himself to this not going well.

"Oh yeah?" Bieksa says.

"Not in a fun way," Kesler says before Bieksa can start. "And I'm still kinda tired so..."

Of course Bieksa ignores the hint. "Must have been something if you skipped training. I told -- oh."

And of course Andrew is in the kitchen, in boxer briefs and one of Kesler's Canucks hoodies, basically looking like a beat-up hooker.

"Why are you walking?" Kesler says.

"I needed to move around, I was getting stiff," Andrew says. Bieksa snorts, and Kesler smacks him on the back of the head. "And I need more ice."

Kesler goes to the freezer and grabs another icepack. He throws it at Andrew's chest. "Sit down. I'm just gonna see Juice out."

Andrew limps back to the den, and Kesler glares at Bieksa and jerks his head to the front door.

"So did you do that, or--"

"Dude," Kesler says. "Not even funny."

"Kes, I thought we were done with this whole 'keeping hookers who follow you home' thing."

Kesler shrugs. "He needs help. What was I supposed to do?"

"Oh, I don't know, let him get it from his hooker friends? Take him to a shelter? Something not this."

"You're an asshole," Kesler says.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Bieksa asks.

 _No,_ Kesler doesn't say. He doesn't want to give Bieksa the satisfaction. "It'll be fine," he says. "He won't even want to stay when he starts feeling better."

"Kes--"

"Bye, Juice."

Back in the den, Andrew is fiddling with his icepack.

"Here," Kesler says, taking it from him and resettling it. "I think this might need a doctor," he says reluctantly.

"It'll be fine," Andrew says immediately.

"It's still swollen. Something might be fractured or torn. You should at least get it X-rayed."

"It'll be fine," Andrew says again. _Stubborn son of a bitch._

"I have an appointment with the team doctor tomorrow. He hates me, but he'll probably look at your ankle, no questions asked."

"He hates you because you're an awful patient."

"Yeah, probably," Kesler admits. "Maybe also because of that time I called him a two-bit hack."

"You're such a fucking charmer," Andrew says.

"I was in pain! And we were losing by one, and I wanted to get back out there, and he wouldn't let me."

Andrew rolls his eyes. "Only you would put those two sentences together like that."

"I'm dedicated," Kesler says.

"If by dedicated you mean crazy, yes."

"You like it," Kesler retorts without thinking, then wishes he could take it back. But he can't.

"Yeah, well," Andrew says, "I'm known for my poor judgment."

"Fuck you." Kesler laughs and sits back down on the couch. Andrew leans his way a little.

"Not right now, I have a headache."

"Yeah, I bet. What do you wanna watch now?"

\---

Andrew refuses to come to the doctor with him the next morning.

"I will pick you up and carry you to the car if I have to," Kesler says.

"Like you could," Andrew retorts. “With your hip?"

"I will certainly try my best," Kesler says.

"Fine," Andrew says, and follows Kesler to the car. Which is good, because Kesler's not actually sure he could carry Andrew if he was struggling.

Andrew is a little wide-eyed when they get to the arena, and trying unsuccessfully to hide it. Kesler doesn't say anything. Andrew clearly kept up with hockey, even before he met Kesler. He's probably never had a chance to look around an NHL arena like this.

Guys are starting to come back from wherever they summered, and they see a few of Kesler's teammates. Kesler says hi, but doesn't offer to introduce Andrew. He'll probably get questions later, but in the meantime, there's no reason to freak Andrew out.

Or maybe Bieksa blabbed to everyone and they won't ask questions.

He does introduce Andrew to Dr. Wilkinson, but all he says is, "This is my friend Andrew. He's just gonna wait until I get checked out."

"Sure," Wilkinson says, "There are some chairs there." He points to a corner and watches Andrew limp over, but doesn't say anything. "Let's take a look at that hip."

The checkup is pretty much the same as every checkup. Wilkinson says he’s progressing well, but won't tell Kesler if he'll be ready for camp or the beginning of the season. Usually he'd push, but he doesn't want to piss Wilkinson off. Today.

Kesler hops off the examination table, and Wilkinson turns to Andrew. "Let's take a look at that ankle, eh?"

"It's fine," Andrew says.

"I'm sure," Wilkinson says. "But I'm a doctor, and I like torturing people, so get on the table." His tone brooks no argument, so Andrew gets on the table. He raises his eyebrows at Kesler, and Kesler raises his right back.

Wilkinson prods at Andrew's ankle until Andrew is pale and swearing.

"I can see why you two are friends," Wilkinson says. He reaches for the tape. "I'm going to give you crutches. Don't put any weight on it. Keep up with the ice and ibuprofen. If the swelling doesn't go down, go to the hospital and get an X-ray." He looks at Kesler, and Kesler nods. Wilkinson efficiently tapes up Andrew's ankle and hands him back his sneaker. "Come back next week, Kes. Same time. We'll talk more about camp then."

Ten minutes later, they're back at the car, Andrew scowling about the crutches.

"Isn't it better than hopping?"

"They're stupid," Andrew says. "I can't --"

"What? Sit on the couch? Because that's all you're going to do."

"Ugh," Andrew says.

They stop and get sandwiches on the way home, and Kesler makes sure Andrew's ass is planted on the couch with some ice before he goes to work out. He can't miss another day like he missed yesterday. If he can't play when the season opens, it won't be because he's not in good enough shape.

He showers after, and, out of habit, reaches down to jerk himself off. Then he stops himself. Andrew is right downstairs, and he might not be up for much, but mutual handjobs would probably be okay. But Kesler remembers the look in his eye when he said he convinced the officer to change the charge. And despite the fact that Andrew said he'd make it worth Kesler's while to bail him out, now Kesler feels sleazy, thinking about making Andrew trade sex for a safe place to stay for a few days. He reaches down and takes ahold of his dick. When Andrew's ready, he'll let Kesler know.

\---

The swelling in Andrew's ankle goes down gradually over the next few days. Kesler's glad, because just thinking about the argument he was going to get about going to the hospital was making him tired. The bruises on his face get slightly less purple and start to shade toward green.

He still sleeps a lot though. Kesler's not sure if it's because he's still in pain, or if it's just years of exhaustion working itself off now that he's forced to stay still. Also, Andrew seemed to take waking up on Kesler's shoulder that one time as permission to fall asleep on Kesler's shoulder every chance he gets. Kesler could tell him to stop, but he's not that much of an asshole. Besides, it's not so bad, once he gets used to it.

Not like Kesler has a ton of time to be Andrew's pillow, or whatever. He has stuff to do. He has training, and press sometimes, and meetings with coaches and stuff.

But they fall into the routine of watching movies or a baseball game after dinner. And then Kesler's shoulder is fair game.

They're watching the Tigers one night, and Andrew is out by the third inning, which is fair because it's not a very interesting game. Kesler keeps watching, though, because there's not much else to do.

During the bottom of the 7th, Andrew gets restless. He's still asleep, though, so Kesler drops his arm from the back of the couch to around Andrew's shoulders. Andrew turns in closer to Kesler and settles.

A few minutes later, Kesler feels something brush against his throat. Then again. That would be Andrew's lips, he realizes. He looks down. Andrew's eyes are still half closed. He looks up at Kesler sleepily when Kesler moves.

Kesler honestly doesn't know who moves first. All he knows is that their lips are pressed together, and they're kissing. It's not a particularly passionate kiss; mostly it's soft and slow, and sleepy. Andrew's hand is resting, warm, on Kesler's stomach, and his mouth opens easily for Kesler's tongue.

It's the first time they've kissed, Kesler realizes.

They make out like that for a while, until Andrew pulls away, settles his head on Kesler's shoulder again, and seems to fall back asleep. Kesler is left blinking, wondering what happened, and when he looks back at the TV, the Tigers have scored four runs. He didn't even notice.

He waits until the game and the post game show are over before waking Andrew up, giving him his crutches, and getting him up to bed. Andrew doesn't act like anything different happened. He grumbles as he brushes his teeth, gets into bed, curls up on his side, and falls asleep.

Kesler tries to go to sleep himself, but he can't. _Andrew is a good kisser,_ he thinks. He doesn't know why that's such a surprise. It's kind of his job. Except that Kesler hadn't figured that kissing _was_ part of his job. It never was with Kesler before. Kesler hadn't really thought about it before, but he just kind of figured that people who pick up hookers off the street aren't exactly interested in kissing. But maybe some are. Andrew didn't seem to think it was a big deal.

Maybe he wasn't even actually awake.

Kesler would like not to be awake either, he thinks sourly.

He falls asleep eventually, and when he wakes up, Andrew isn't in bed.

 _That's not all that unusual,_ he reminds himself. Except for the fact that Andrew's slept late since he got here. He gets out of bed. Because he's hungry, and not to find out where Andrew is. Andrew's probably in the den, anyway.

Andrew's not in the den, he's in the kitchen. And he made coffee. Kesler is reminded why having Andrew around isn't completely horrible. If Andrew thinks anything weird happened last night, he doesn't show it. He's just reading the paper, like nothing happened.

At this rate, Kesler is starting to think nothing did happen and he's imagining it all.

Kesler sits down next to Andrew and the counter and picks up the sports section of the paper. Andrew doesn't even look up from reading the business section.

"I'm going to training," Kesler says when he's done with his coffee.

"Okay," Andrew says.

"Need anything while I'm out?"

"No," Andrew says.

"Okay." Kesler lingers at the sink, like he's waiting for something to happen, even though he's not sure what. Andrew looks up from the paper.

"Aren't you gonna be late?"

"What?" Kesler says. "Oh, yeah. Um. I'm going now."

He gets to the garage as quick as he can and bangs his head on his steering wheel when he gets in the car. "Take a chill pill, Kes," he tells himself. There is no reason to be freaking out, because nothing weird happened. He just needs to get to the gym, and everything will be better.

Kesler gets back around lunchtime. Andrew is in the kitchen, standing on one foot, making a sandwich.

"You want one?" he asks Kesler.

Kesler rolls his eyes. "Sit down."

"I'm fine," Andrew says, but takes the crutch leaning next to him and hobbles over to the table. It's exactly like normal. Kesler kind of wants to scream.

They finish lunch and Kesler goes to shower. When he comes back downstairs, Andrew is reading a book. Kesler doesn't even know where he found it, because Kesler doesn't remember getting it. Maybe Jenny left it the last time she was here. She reads books.

"You can watch TV, or whatever," Andrew says. "It won't bother me."

Kesler realizes he's been standing in the doorway staring. He needs to get a fucking grip. He sits on the couch and turns on the TV. He flips through the channels, but there's not really anything interesting on. He looks over to Andrew. He seems completely engrossed in his book.

 _Oh, fuck this,_ Kesler thinks. He reaches over and grabs the book out of Andrew's hands.

"Hey!" Andrew says, but he doesn't get a chance to say anything else, because Kesler kisses him.

Andrew kisses back after a second; then his hand comes up and twists into Kesler's hair, pulling his closer. The angle is awkward, though, so Kesler pulls Andrew until he's straddling Kesler's lap.

"Mmm," Andrew says into Kesler's mouth when he's settled.

Kesler feels a little lightheaded, but that's maybe because he's forgotten to breathe. He does that, and grips Andrew's hips, pulling him a little closer. Andrew's hips shift under his hands, not quite grinding, but enough so that Kesler can feel it. He tries not to buck his own hips in answer.

He lets Andrew's tongue into his mouth, sucks on it a little bit, and feels Andrew's hand tighten in his hair. _Christ, that feels good._ He lets his hands slip under Andrew's shirt, but just rests them on the small of his back.

He has no idea how long they make out like that. Finally Andrew pulls away a little and takes a deep breath. Kesler lets his head fall onto the back of the couch and closes his eyes.

"Can I have my book back now?" Andrew asks, a little breathy.

Kesler reaches over without opening his eyes, grabs the book, and pushes it into Andrew's chest.

Andrew climbs off Kesler's lap, sits down next to him, and settles into his side.

Kesler is so, so screwed.

\---

That night, when they go to bed, Andrew grabs the front of Kesler's t-shirt and pulls him in for a kiss, which turns into making out a little, before Andrew releases him, lies down, turns his back, and goes to sleep.

Kesler sighs, then goes into the bathroom to jerk off.

Probably this is, like, totally normal behavior for a traumatized hooker. Maybe. Kesler doesn't fucking know. _The point of a hooker,_ Kesler thinks helplessly, _is not to have to jerk off in the bathroom._ But if kissing's all Andrew is comfortable with right now, then it's all they'll do. Sure, Kesler was paying Andrew for a long time to have sex with him, but then it at least seemed he was okay with doing it. If he's not okay with it, then Kesler's not really that into it. He's an asshole, but he's not that much of an asshole.

Maybe in a few days or a couple weeks or something, Andrew will be over his trauma, and they can have sex again. They can keep kissing though, Kesler thinks. The kissing is pretty okay. He thinks about kissing Andrew while he fucks him, swallowing all of his noises, and he comes into his hand.

Okay. Good. Now he can go to bed.

\---

They go on like that for the rest of the week, randomly making out. Sometimes Kesler will get his hands up Andrew's shirt, or the other way around, but it never goes farther than that.

Kesler hasn't been so sexually frustrated since he was a teenager, and even then he could usually convince a teammate to give him a handjob for the same in return.

He's not gonna complain though, because he knows if he pushes, Andrew will go along with it, because he thinks he has to. Thinking about Andrew doing that makes something in Kesler's stomach twist up, so he kisses Andrew and lets him sleep on his shoulder, and he keeps his damn mouth shut.

He has another appointment with the doctors, and this time Andrew comes along willingly.  
Wilkinson checks Andrew out first, declares that he's pleased with his progress, and says he can stop using the crutches. He puts an air cast on the ankle and tells him to take it easy.

Unfortunately, Kesler's check up doesn't go that well.

"You're already ahead of schedule," Wilkinson says, "but pushing yourself more than you are could cause permanent damage."

"But--"

"I'm serious, Ryan. I know you want to play the season opener, but would you rather do that or be healthy for the rest of the season? Or your career? You're not 21 anymore, and you use your body hard. It needs time to heal."

Kesler nods mutely and refrains from calling Wilkinson all the names he wants to because he did them a favor.

"Let's go," he snaps at Andrew when he leaves Wilkinson's office.

Kesler grits his teeth the entire way home.

Andrew stays silent, which is probably a good idea on his part. Kesler's in a mood to say terrible things if someone says the wrong thing. Or looks at him wrong. Or looks at him at all.

He doesn't stomp up to his room, but it's a near thing. Andrew stays downstairs, doing whatever. Kesler doesn't care. He takes his second shower of the day, then goes into the guest room because there's a TV there. Shit, he can't even work out his mood in the gym, and that makes him angrier.

He finds some CSI reruns and sprawls out on the bed to watch them.

He ends up falling asleep, and when he wakes up, it's to Andrew poking him.

"Wha--" he croaks.

"It's time for dinner," Andrew says. "Do you wanna eat or do you wanna sulk some more?"

Kesler actually takes some time to consider it. Then his stomach reminds him that he didn't eat lunch, so he says, "I could eat."

"Okay," Andrew says. "But you can't do both."

Andrew's made some sort of stir-fry with chicken. It actually smells really good. Andrew hands Kesler a beer after he gives him his plate. It's not a bad idea. They carry their food into the den and turn on the TV.

"Being able to play hockey longer is more important than being able to play hockey sooner," Andrew says after a few minutes. Kesler wants to snap at him, but he sounds weirdly intense, so he stays silent. "Don't rush back for a few meaningless games when it could ruin your whole career."

"It's not meaningless, it's the season opener," Kesler says.

"It's two points," Andrew says. "It's not the playoffs."

He does sort of have a point. Kesler just grunts in acknowledgement.

"This is pretty good," he says after another few bites.

Andrew just grunts back at him.

\---

Kesler feels better about it the next day, sort of. Andrew was right, it's not like he's never going to play hockey again. And really, he'll probably only miss a few weeks.

He goes back to training. He goes to the gym. He skates. He does his best to listen to the trainers about his limits. Maybe he doesn't always succeed, but he tries. One of his trainers asks him if he's been replaced by an alien, and Kesler feels bad. He should get them something nice when this is all over with.

He comes back from the rink one day and something in the house looks different. Actually a lot of things look different. They look ... clean. Not the half-assed kind of straightening that Andrew usually does. It's not the day for the cleaning service to come either.

He finds Andrew in the guest bathroom, scrubbing the shower.

"I'm pretty sure that was already clean," Kesler says.

"That's one opinion," Andrew says, and keeps scrubbing.

"Um," Kesler says. Andrew must be really bored. Of course he is. He can move around now, and besides TV, there's not a lot for him to do here. "Wanna come to practice with me tomorrow?"

Andrew finally looks up from the shower. "Yeah, okay."

Kesler is half expecting Andrew to back out the next morning, but he doesn't. He's quiet, though.

Kesler keeps expecting him to ask to be taken back to his apartment, or his corner, or wherever. Or maybe just tell Kesler he's going back, and leave. He's still wearing the air cast, but he's mobile enough. But he doesn't. He stays at Kesler's, despite the boredom. Sure, Kesler's house is nicer than anything Andrew could possibly have. Maybe he has a weird thing about hygiene Kesler doesn't know about.

Whatever, Kesler's not going to complain. Even with the constant, epic blue balls.

Training camp hasn't started yet, but Rogers never really sleeps. The doctors, coaching staff, front office, equipment guys, and a bunch of the players are already back.

Kesler has on-ice training today. He makes sure security won't kick Andrew out, tells him to explore, and goes to get changed. It's not much, but at least Andrew's out of the house.

When Kesler is done with training, showered, and dressed, Andrew is nowhere to be seen. Kesler doesn't have to look far, though. He finds Andrew in the equipment room, laughing with a bunch of the equipment guys. "Kes!" Chuck says when Kesler walks in. "You didn't tell us your friend used to play hockey!"

That's because Kesler had no idea Andrew used to play hockey. He just smiles, though, and Chuck doesn't seem to need an answer.

"He cuts sticks better than Gus."

"Oh really?" Kesler says. Andrew won't meet his eyes. "Well, are you ready to go, or do you wanna stay here and do the laundry?"

"I'm ready," Andrew says. He performs elaborate parting handshakes with the equipment staff, then joins Kesler in the doorway.

"Bye, guys," Kesler says. "See you soon."

"You played hockey?" Kesler asks as they walk through the halls to the exit.

"I grew up in Canada, of course I played hockey," Andrew says dismissively. But Kesler knows that isn't the whole story. Andrew played hockey long enough to learn to manage equipment expertly. Impressing Chuck is no small feat. Also, his insistence that Kesler not injure himself further makes more sense now. _How in the world,_ Kesler wonders, _does someone get from hockey to turning tricks?_

Well, it's not like Andrew is going to tell him.

On the way back from practice, Kesler stops at a Chapters.

"I need ... a book," he tells Andrew. "I'll meet you in the cafe in 20 minutes." Then he walks around picking out books that look interesting. He doesn't know what Andrew likes, exactly, but from what he's seen Andrew reading, he doesn't seem to care. Kesler picks up some fiction and mystery books that look interesting. He goes over to the health section to pick up something he can say his trainers wanted him to read.

Andrew is in the cafe, drinking coffee and reading a book. In Kesler’s clothes that are a little too big for him, and one of Kesler's Tigers hats turned backward on his head, he doesn't look like a hooker at all. Just like any other guy. Well, any other guy who's been in a fight recently, since there's still some faint green bruising around his eye.

Kesler walks by and sweeps his pile of books into his arms and goes to pay for them.

"I could have gotten those," Andrew says when he gets back.

"Whatever, I have a membership card," Kesler says. Well, he does now, anyway. He looks at the menu board longingly before firmly reminding himself that lattes are not in his diet.

"Let's go," he says, before he can convince himself that it wouldn't hurt if he got nonfat milk.

\---

Andrew goes to practice with him more often after that, hangs with Chuck and Gus and the other equipment guys, and seems to just like being around hockey equipment. He still won't elaborate on his hockey playing, and when Kesler offers to get him a pair of skates, he declines.

He starts working out again in Kesler's basement, and sometimes disappears for hours at a time during the day. He's always back by late afternoon, even though Kesler keeps expecting him not to come home.

When his agent calls to remind him about media weekend in New York, he really is surprised. It's not that he'd forgotten about it, but it had seemed far away, and now it's next week.

It takes him four days to bring it up to Andrew.

"I have to go to New York. Just for the weekend," he says. Andrew starts nodding, and Kesler really can't stand it, how Andrew just always assumes the worst of Kesler. "But I mean, you can stay here. While I'm gone. You have keys and everything, so you should just ... stay."

Andrew blinks and says, "Oh, okay."

Kesler doesn't tell Andrew that he spent two days trying to figure out how to make it okay for Andrew to come with him. Andrew would probably like New York. Kesler already knew he was screwed about Andrew, but this was taking it another step up.

That night when they're making out on the couch, Andrew pulls away and gets to his knees between Kesler's legs.

"Um," Kesler says, "you don't, I mean, uh, are you sure?"

In answer, Andrew unzips his fly and gets his hand on Kesler's dick.

Kesler is pretty sure this is because he said Andrew could stay, and he's therefore pretty sure Andrew is doing this for the wrong reason. But he also has a hand other than his own on his dick for the first time in weeks, and he's been wound up too tightly to be able to say no.

Especially when Andrew leans in and takes Kesler in his mouth.

It would be embarrassing, how quickly he comes, except that he doesn't care because Andrew is blowing him. When he can move his arms again, he pulls Andrew up onto his lap and kisses him. He can taste himself in Andrew's mouth, and he doesn't know why he didn't think of this kissing thing earlier, because that is fucking hot.

He shoves his hand into Andrew's pants and jerks him off. He'll do better later, he swears. Andrew doesn't seem to mind though. He moans into Kesler's mouth and bucks into his hand, and it doesn't take him long to come either.

Kesler spends the next two days in a sort of sexually satisfied daze. Bieksa makes fun of him, and then just shakes his head in disgust when all Kesler can do is smile smugly at him.

The night before Kesler leaves for New York, Andrew crawls on top of him in bed, licks his way down Kesler's body, skips his cock, and goes straight to rimming him. He adds a few fingers to his tongue, and Kesler might come really really soon. Then Andrew looks up at Kesler, his fingers still in Kesler's ass.

"Can I?" Andrew asks. He punctuates his question with a curl of his fingers, and Kesler nods frantically.

Andrew's quick with the condom, and then he's pushing into Kesler slowly.

"Hurry up," Kesler says, but Andrew shakes his head. He fucks Kesler slowly, not letting him speed the pace up on his own. Finally Kesler just stops trying and lets Andrew do what he wants. Not that it's bad, more like Kesler really might die, he thinks. Andrew is looking at him, and it's making Kesler feel hot and flushed, and that makes him even more turned on.

Finally Andrew starts speeding up, and Kesler knows he gets really noisy right there before he comes, but no one can prove it. When Andrew comes, his breathing goes ragged and his eyes flutter, and it's kind of fascinating. He lies on top of Kesler for a while, catching his breath, then gets up and goes to take care of the condom.

He climbs back in bed, grabs Kesler's arm, and wraps it around him so they're spooning.

 _Okay,_ Kesler thinks, _this is new._ But it's cool, he can do this for a while. And then he falls asleep like that.

When he wakes up, they're back in their normal positions on opposite sides of the bed, but Kesler doesn't have time to ponder it; he has to finish packing and get to the airport.

"See you when I get back," he tells Andrew, and leaves.

\---

New York is fun, but tiring, and not as exciting as it is when it means training camp starts soon. Kesler says all the right things about his injury, and he mostly means them.

It's weird not having Andrew around. Kesler's just gotten used to him being there, he guesses. Also, he thinks Andrew would have fun here. He'd be having more fun than Kesler, probably.

He gets home late Monday night. All he wants is a beer, a blowjob, and to go to sleep. But when he opens the front door, the house is dark and quiet.

"Andrew?" he calls. Nothing.

That doesn't mean anything, Kesler tells himself. He could just be out, doing whatever. He's allowed. He heads to the kitchen to grab his beer. There are no dishes in the sink, the dishwasher is empty, there are no new takeout containers in the fridge. Okay, so that's kinda weird. But maybe Andrew got bored again.

In the den, it's the same. No magazines or books on the coffee table, and all the pillows are straightened. In the bedroom, the bed is made and there are no clothes on the floor. Okay, now Kesler's getting kind of worried. He checks in the bathroom. Andrew's toothbrush is gone. He searches through his drawers and closets and finds all of the clothes he lent to Andrew. The only things missing are the clothes Andrew came here in and Kesler's Tigers hat.

"Oh, fuck you," Kesler says to the empty room.

Kesler hauls his ass back into his car, and into the city, grumbling the entire time. He is so fucking angry. He _told_ Andrew he could stay. Andrew's acting like he's some kind of jerk who didn't actually mean it or something.

He gets to Andrew's corner and Andrew's not there.

"Motherfucker," he growls, and pulls away. He drives around for half an hour, goes back, and Andrew's still not there. One of the other guys is, though.

"Nice car," the guy says when Kesler rolls down his window. "Wanna take me for a ride?"

"Where's Andrew?" Kesler asks. The guy's come hither expression drops. He shrugs.

"Haven't seen him," he says, and turns away.

"Wait! When was the last time you saw him?"

"How much is it worth to you?"

Kesler does not have the patience for this right now.

"Just answer the fucking question," he growls. Whatever the guy sees in Kesler's expression makes him take a step back.

"Haven't seen him in weeks, dude."

Just fucking great. Kesler drives off without another word.

Kesler goes back to Andrew's corner every night for a week. Andrew is never there.

On the sixth night, he parks across the street, ignores all the other hookers, and just waits for Andrew to show up. He drinks two large Red Bulls and turns his music up obnoxiously loud because this is not a neighborhood where he wants to fall asleep. By 2am, he’s jittery from the caffeine and nursing a headache from straining his eyes, and Andrew still hasn’t shown up. By 4am, he’s nodding off over his steering wheel, and he either has to go home or sleep here. He goes home.

Training camp starts, and even though Kesler can't practice with the team, he still goes and trains himself and hangs with the team. He shows up every morning working on a complete lack of sleep, his eyes gritty and his limbs heavy.

He lies to Coach and says he might be coming down with something. Since he can't practice with the team anyway, it doesn't seem to bother Coach.

Bieksa and Burr aren't so easy to shake off.

"Seriously," Bieksa says when they're all leaving the arena, "does this have to do with the hooker?"

"Wait, there's a hooker?" Burr asks. Kesler doesn't know why he's friends with these people.

"He's missing, okay?" Kesler finally snaps.

"Missing?" Bieksa asks.

"He?" Burr asks.

"I'm going home," Kesler says.

"Okay, but seriously, have you called the police?" Bieksa asks him 10 minutes later over the phone.

"I'm not calling the police," Kesler says. Not like he hadn't thought about it, and then he remembered Andrew saying, "I'm convincing" and decided that the police probably would not be that helpful. "You think the police are gonna care about a missing hooker?"

"Okay, but--"

"Why do _you_ care, Juice?" Kesler interrupts. "Aren't you glad he's not around to try and rob me or whatever?"

"Shut the fuck up, dude, just because I thought letting him stay with you was a bad idea doesn't mean I want anything bad to happen to him, okay? Besides, you clearly care, so I care."

Kesler is about to snap, _I don't care_ , but that's very obviously a lie. His actions would suggest otherwise. Okay, yes, fine, he cares. A lot. Obviously.

"Fine," Kesler says. "I've done everything I can think of, except maybe hiring a private investigator. He could have left the province, or he could be dead for all I fucking know."

"Do you think something happened to him?"

Kesler sighs. "I've been checking the papers, you know? I called some hospitals. Nothing matching his description. I don't think he went back to his corner at all."

"So you think he left voluntarily."

"Yeah. That's what I think." Because sure, it makes him so fucking angry that Andrew just left like that, but it's better than thinking about Andrew in a hospital, or worse, at the bottom of the bay or something.

"But why? I mean, he had a pretty good thing going."

"I don't know," Kesler grits out.

"Did you do something? You did something, didn't you?"

"I have to go now," Kesler says, and hangs up.

\---

Preseason goes on, and Kesler can't play hockey, and he can't find Andrew. The season starts, and Kesler still can't play hockey or find Andrew.

He does start practicing with the team, and it's such a fucking relief. It's not playing games, but it's something.

But he's still not sleeping well, and his trainers think he's hiding being in pain from them. He tries to convince them that playing games would help him sleep better, but they don't seem to think so. _What do they know?_

Bieksa helps him look, but Andrew remains MIA. Kesler's been reluctant to hire an investigator for a couple reasons. One, imagining explaining the situation makes him cringe. And two, because if Andrew is staying away on his own, then he clearly doesn't want Kesler to find him.

But he can't shake the fear that something bad happened, so he starts looking up investigators. Hopefully someone who won't take the entire story to the press and ruin Kesler's life even more.

The team leaves on a road trip, and Kesler is alone and bored again.

He goes to training in the morning, then goes home and tries to narrow his list of investigators. He's down to three now.

The doorbell rings, and Kesler glares toward the front hall. He's not expecting any deliveries and Bieksa is not even in Canada, so he can't stop by unexpectedly. He gets up and stomps to the front door, intending to tell whoever it is to scram, he doesn't want any Girl Scout cookies or whatever. He yanks open the door.

It's Andrew.

"Um," Andrew says after a minute. Kesler is aware he's staring, but he's still having trouble believing that Andrew is actually there. He's wearing clothes Kesler has never seen before, that aren't either hooker tight or too big like Kesler's clothes were. He's wearing Kesler's Tigers hat, backwards.

"You--" Kesler says, and then doesn't really know what he wants to say. "I couldn't find you," he finally says.

"I quit," Andrew says. "Being a hooker. I'm done."

"Oh," Kesler says. He doesn't know what that means. Well, he knows what that means, but he doesn't know what it means for him. It's selfish, but Andrew is the one who came here and rang his doorbell, and Kesler doesn't know what to do with that. "Congratulations?" he says.

"Yeah, thanks," Andrew says. He shifts from foot to foot. "I have like, a real job and stuff. Just bussing tables, but you know." Kesler nods, even though he kinda doesn't. "So um, I have a cell phone now." He holds out a strip of paper. "Here's the number. You know, if you want."

Kesler stares.

"Or not," Andrew says, dropping his gaze and starting to step back.

Kesler grabs his wrist, pulls him into the house, and slams the door. He pushes Andrew up against it.

"You fucking asshole, I looked everywhere for you. I was about to hire a private investigator."

"Sorry," Andrew says. He doesn't sound very sorry. "I had to get my shit together. On my own."

Kesler refrains from asking why it had to be on his own. He would have helped, if Andrew asked. He grabs the slip of paper from Andrew's hand. "I want this," he says.

The corner of Andrew's lips quirks up. "Yeah?"

"Fuck you," Kesler says, and kisses him.

Kesler pulls away after a minute. Andrew whines a little, and Kesler smiles.

"You're staying, right?" he asks. He just ... needs to know.

"I have my own apartment now," Andrew says.

"Yeah, but..."

Andrew nods at the paper still in Kesler's hand. "You can reach me," he says.

Kesler likes that idea and has to kiss Andrew again. Andrew seems okay with that.

"But tonight," Kesler says a few minutes later. "Stay tonight?"

Andrew shrugs. "I guess I could do that," he says casually.

"Okay, cool," Kesler says, going for casual too. He thinks the way he's smiling is giving him away, though.

"Seriously," Andrew says, "are we gonna talk or are we gonna fuck?"

Kesler pushes Andrew back against the door. "Is that what you want?" he asks. It comes out kind of growly.

Andrew shifts his hip so his cock brushes Kesler's. "Yeah," he says. "That's what I want."

And who is Kesler to deny him?


End file.
